Pop, Six, Squish, Uh-uh, Cicero, Lipschitz...

Part VI: Lipschitz

***

"Lipschitz."

"It’s called Underhill and what?"

"I just told you: Lipschitz."

"Lipschitz?" Estella nodded. "What a strange name," commented Merry, turning to face the road again, reigns in his hands. He kept the ponies steady, as the roads were still muddy from the morning’s rain. It was damp and uncomfortable. Not very good travel weather at all.

Merry’s brows were lowered, almost to a frown, when Estella looked over, and she sighed slightly. They had been searching for this counting house for over an hour, and she was getting tired. It turned out that Bree-land owed to Buckland a considerable sum in for the brandy trade, and the papers required an official signature before payment could be shipped out. And conveniently enough, they happened to be on short holiday at precisely the same time, in precisely the same town, and Merry happened to be precisely official enough to sign the documents in stead of his father. What a coincidence! Estella snorted, this "short errand, I promise" was turning out to be a bit longer than expected.

She turned back to check on Appleberry and Wynnie, and was thankful when she found they were both fast asleep under the dry wool blanket they had brought, ("Estella we don’t need a blanket, it’s warm and sunny out." "You never know it might get cold." "In May?" "You never know." "Alright, Estella, it is going to get cold in May." "It might." "If you say so."). They seemed to be resting peacefully despite the wagon’s irritating bump-clump! bump-clump! as the ponies trotted down the narrow streets, which was a lot more than she could say for herself at the moment.

She was beginning to think they were lost. Actually, she had known they were lost ever since Merry had first told her they were taking a ‘short cut’ over an hour ago. She sighed, watching Merry’s pensive expression, debating whether or not to bring the subject up, or just keep quiet and hope that they reached the counting house and then the inn before her next birthday.

She gathered her will, "Ahem," she cleared her throat, looking at him sidelong.

A moment of silence went by, when the only sounds between them were the pitter-patter of the light drizzle and the clomp of the ponies’ feet against the soggy road.

"Ahem," she tried again, a bit more forcefully, though he didn’t look over, and the floppy hat that was on his head to keep the rain out of his eyes served to block out what she could see of his face.

But he did answer slightly, saying, "Hmm?"

"Merry, darling," she said, figuring if she buttered him up a little he may not answer her with his inevitable stubbornness. "I think that we might be..." she cringed, "lost."

There was a long pause again, and then, "We’re not lost, Estella."

"Well," she said, "Then, why aren’t we there yet?" The streets of Bree were unfamiliar to Estella, and the cold stone buildings covered with sagging thatched roofs, now dripping with rainwater, made her uncomfortable. And she felt uneasy as they passed the looming structures, which often would rise up on each side of the road like walls of a sort.

"Because," he answered, as if such a response was acceptable. "It’s just up ahead, don’t worry."

Estella sighed. She knew better than to say what she was going to say next, it was the one thing that you never said to a male. The one thing that offended them and challenged them and made them determined as ever to pursue their contermashious* (as the ladies in Tookland said) behavior to any end. All these things occurred in their minds at the same time for a reason not even the Valar would know. Why this simple statement would provoke them to dogged uncooperative conduct, would remain a mystery of Middle-earth for eternity. But the dreary weather was too much for her, and the next words came from her borne from her travel-weariness, although she knew their dire consequences. She cleared her throat and said: "I think, maybe, we should ask for directions."

She heard Merry chuckle almost, "Estella, why would we need to do that?"

"Because, my love, we don’t know where we are going," she was careful to use the word ‘we’, if she had insisted he was the one who had got them lost, well, she could pretty much count on riding through the routes of Bree forever (or at least until the ponies died – then they would walk).

"I told you, we’re not lost," he said turning to face her, his expression set.

"Hmph." Estella said in response, and crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, I think we are," and she turned her head to face the other direction.

"Alright then," Merry said, seemingly content to let her think whatever she wished as long as she remained silent about it. He took out his pipe, lit it up, and began smoking as they trotted through the mist.

Rolling her eyes Estella thought to herself, He has to smoke, I mean, it’s not as if it isn’t cloudy enough already, and she sighed and rested her head in her palm, trying vainly to spot a passerby in the haze.

It was quiet again for a little while, but then Estella thought of an alternative plan, "Why don’t we just stay over at the Prancing Pony tonight, and you can go with Butterbur to the counting house tomorrow morning before we wake up?"

Merry was silent for a minute, and she almost thought he was considering the suggestion when he said, "Well, no, let’s just stick with this."

She provided some wisdom, "Merry we can hardly see the ponies, never mind the roads, how do you know where you are going?" The fog had become incredibly thick. She sighed, if they weren’t going to be allowed to go back, at least maybe she could try and find this place herself. "At least let me drive."

Merry turned and looked at her, brows raised, "You want to drive?"

"Yes, so what?"

"Do you remember what happened last time you drove by yourself?"

"Nothing happened that I can recall," she answered.

"Estella," Merry leveled, "You crashed into the fish cart at the market, broke the two front wheels, managed to let the ponies run off and somehow you even ran over the wagon’s own yoke...how that is possible I still am ignorant."

"So," Estella said in defense, "It was only once."

"Twice," Merry corrected, and she could see the mirth dancing in his taunting gaze.

"I didn’t hit the fish cart the second time, and you know it."

"Oh, I’m sorry, it was the cheese stand."

"Yes, precisely... cheese is far less messy than fish."And she looked back to him, and noticed he was grinning, and added, "And if these wild Rohirric ponies of yours were half-sane then perhaps I could control them," Estella supported, jest underlying her words.

"Mhmm."

"But we are lost, Merry, dear," she said, hoping their banter had softened him a little.

Nope. "We are not lost, Estella."

"Merry Brandybuck, we’re lost!" she declared.

"Not we’re not!" said Merry in return.

"Well, then, would you mind telling me where we are if you’re so sure?" she asked.

"We are... in Bree, on our way to Underhill, Lipschitz & Sons Counting House, Shift End, Bree-land."

"Pfft," Estella snorted. "Lipschitz is a silly name, anyhow," she stated, this being the first thing that surfaced to her mind in her state of gentle frustration.

"Estella that hasn’t to do with anything... would you like people to say Bolger is a silly name?"

"Don’t patronize me, please, Mr Brandybuck."

"Well, don’t accuse me of faulty vehicle directional skills."

"Well, don’t get us lost, then."

"We’re not lost."

"Yes, we are!"

"No, we’re not!"

Estella sighed, exasperated, and refrained from exclaiming in return in forethought not to wake their sleeping children. But she did cross her arms over her chest, surfacing a nettled, "Hmpf!"

Merry frowned, "Let’s just not talk until we get there, sound good?"

"Sounds find to me," she said decisively.

They were quiet again for a while, and Estella shivered, and glanced back to their lasses who still slept soundly, despite the miserable weather, beneath the warm blanket. Merry glanced at her, watching her hold her shoulders miserably, and he couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the lady he loved. He shook off his jacket and handed it to her, "Here," he said plainly, offering it with one hand while keeping his eyes on the road.

Estella regarded the offered piece of clothing coolly a minute, but then succumbed, "Thank you," she said simply, and took it from him, and slid it on. She smelt the scent of him, like pipeweed and hay and apples and soap, while she nestled into his jacket which was still warm from his body. She couldn’t help but look back over to him, and noticed with giddy delight like a tween’s that he had been staring at her, too, and attempted to quickly and nonchalantly divert his gaze when she looked over. She giggled into the collar of the jacket.

Ah, she loved him for all his faults, and she leaned over and kissed his cheek.

"I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pick an argument, it’s alright if we’re lost."

Merry sighed, he turned to his wife, "Estella, how many times do I have to say that we are not –"

But before he could finish, the wagon approached a sign which suddenly appeared right in front of them from out of the mist, they read what it said:

Thank You for Visiting Staddle, Now Entering Combe.

Estella turned to Merry who was sinking a little lower in his seat.

"Meriadoc Brandybuck," she said, her voice clear and echoing in the dissipating mist. "All this time you tell me that we are not lost, and that you know where you are going and that I don’t know what I’m talking about, and now this sign tells us that we have not only past our desired destination, but we have left the town, went through another town, and are now entering yet another?"She had to resist the urge to say ‘I told you so’, she was a lady after all. At least he had the decency to look sheepish.

Estella looked at Merry, her large brown eyes narrowing, the stray black curls of her hair falling into her face making her seem quite intimidating, as she pursed her lips and put her hands on her hips in pointed malcontent, tapping her fingers, vexed, in rapid succession against her body.

"Heh," he sputtered, and still for all her aggravation she couldn’t help but be charmed by that rakish, guiltless smile of his, and she felt her annoyance disappear as she let out a resigned sigh, shaking her head, trying to hide the smile on her lips – husbands.

But the next person she saw walking down the road, she turned to, calling out with a purposeful, "Excuse me!" She hopped out of the wagon alone, thankyouverymuch, and Merry watched from his seat as she approached the stranger, "Can you tell me the directions to a Lipschitz counting house...?"

***

Fin!

All the ladies later had this to say about their husband’s unfortunate situations: They had it comin’!

*contermashious - Scots for: stubborn even when wrong